Power, Or Lack Thereof
by Mardy Lass
Summary: After TV series 3, no spoilers that I’m aware of. The poor old TARDIS suffers a power cut, and Ten and newboy Fergus have to get her fixed. Easy. Except for the blue aliens, manhunts, greeneyed monsters and the ubiquitous local politics. T for language.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

_Just hoping you like Fergus as much as I do..._

* * *

**ONE**

The noise was unbearable. The pulsing, booming cacophony echoed and reverberated off every surface, beating the air mercilessly with such a strident wall of sound that small items rattled in their places, dust jumped off the shiny surfaces, and even the TARDIS grating quivered beneath its wrath.

The sheets on the bed moved and then a monumental irritated sigh emerged from somewhere underneath. The round protrusion near the top end of the bed, under several rather warm sheets, pushed its way up quickly. A mass of brown hair, not unlike an explosion in a pipe-cleaner factory, popped out into fresh air.

The Doctor pulled a face that had made the knees and extremities of several species of aliens tremble in the past, and then opened his eyes. He rubbed a hand in one of them before snatching the sheets from his head irritably and slumping fully onto his front, gathering his elbows under him to look up at the clock above his headboard.

He sighed as if it were all universally unjust. Then he lifted his head, took a deep breath, and in a voice that shook the rafters free of all remaining dust, bellowed,

"Mister Camp_bell_!"

The result was an immediate and resounding ignorance of the Time Lord's anger at having been woken after only four hours' sleep.

He hissed something unkind under his breath, wrenched back the bed covers, and pushed himself to sit up on the edge of the bed. He scrubbed his hands over his face, then turned back, crawling over to reach for his glasses and screwdriver from the left, untouched side.

He rammed the glasses on his nose and palmed the screwdriver meaningfully, walking round the bed with dangerous determine. He marched out, the grating cool but not unpleasantly so under his bare feet, his blue pyjama bottoms neatly relieving the grating of dust as they swept baggily along behind him.

He rounded the corner of the corridor and didn't even pause as he put his hand to the doorknob, fairly shouldering it open and standing in the doorframe with his hands low on his hips.

He looked around the room, taking in the mess of clothes tipped on the bed, the chest of drawers with several unwashed and very much unloved tea mugs on it, the boxes of various kinds of electronic junk with Snap-On and Radio Shack tools lying over them.

The noise was louder in here, and the Doctor was suddenly worried his ears were contemplating bleeding in protest.

"_Mister Campbell_!" he bellowed.

A head popped up from behind the box in the far right corner.

Fergus Campbell looked at the Time Lord with a friendly grin. His mouth moved but only a lip-reader would have had any chance at cracking the message.

The Doctor simply stared at him with a look that could have set off a veritable armada of Isolus vessels. Fergus' smile fell quickly. He got to his feet and crossed to the 1982 JVC R-S33L stereo receiver with built-in amplifier in the opposite corner quickly.

He reached out and turned it right down, turning to face the vengeful Gallifreyan.

"Morning, Skipper," he offered, wiping his hands on his jeans guiltily.

"Mister Campbell, do you remember a conversation about volume levels?" he demanded.

Fergus cleared his throat quietly and found he couldn't meet the much older man's eyes. He let his gaze wander to the words '_Trust me, I'm a Doctor_', written on the front of the Time Lord's faded blue t-shirt instead.

"Aye, Skipper," he admitted.

"And?"

"And Ah'm sorry, Skipper. Ah didnae think you'd still be sleeping, likesay."

"How in all the worlds you can work with that racket anyway?" he demanded testily, then his gaze was drawn to one side. Fergus stepped to his left quickly in an attempt to block his view. "Hold on – are those my macro-binoculars?" he cried indignantly, walking round him and over to the work area.

It was a desk much like an architect's work station, except this one was covered in small electronic parts and USB cables.

The Doctor reached out and picked up his piece of equipment, about to start on the young man for borrowing them without asking. But his eyes, sleepy and muggy behind his chunky glasses, caught sight of the other items scattered round the work area.

"Just what are you attempting to achieve here?" he asked, but it came out more curious than angry.

"Oh, well, nothing really," he said quickly, crossing to the desk and reaching out to start gathering up parts. But the Doctor shifted his weight onto his left leg, turning his back to the younger man and effectively blocking him from the desk. He bent down slightly, 'hmm'ing to himself as he took in the mess more closely.

"Ah, I see," he said, amused. "You're trying to reverse-engineer a Siffaynian USB hub?" He straightened and turned to him, raising his eyebrows. "Well it's not going to be easy," he said with some satisfaction, walking off toward the far side of the room again, and the door.

"Why's that then?" Fergus asked quickly.

"It's near-impossible without one of these," the Doctor smiled, waving his screwdriver over his shoulder at him. "Carry on. Without the murder of eardrums, please."

"Wait just now!" Fergus said quickly, dodging round the items to follow him. "Yi cannae leave me here wasting ma time! Yi huv tae help me!"

"I have to get more sleep, Mister Campbell," he said pleasantly. "You do not want a ratty, sleep-deprived Time Lord on your hands."

"Aye, sorry," he said despondently. "Can Ah borrow yir-"

"Nope," he said with satisfaction, popping the 'p'. He smiled to himself and walked out. Fergus watched him go, then looked back at the other side of the large bedroom.

"Bastard," he hissed under his breath.

"And _there_ go your tea rights!" the Doctor judged from the corridor, and Fergus tutted at himself, slapping his forehead.

It was going to be a looooooooong day.

-------------------------------------------------

Fergus walked into the main control room slowly, carrying two large mugs of tea and looking around cautiously.

"Skipper?" he called cheerfully.

"Down here," came a voice from somewhere above him.

He looked up and to his right to see the Doctor balancing precariously half on and half off a ladder. His brown suit almost made him blend in with the wall. His left foot was on the rickety wooden contraption, his right foot hooked into some kind of wiring mess hanging from the wall. He had his left hand round a thick power cable, also secured to the wall. The screwdriver was busying away under his expert tutelage over and above some smaller, lurid green wires.

"What are yi doing up there then?" Fergus called.

"You mean what am I doing _down_ here?" the Doctor called back, pre-occupied.

"Er… aye, alright, if yi like," he offered, confused.

"Checking power. Something's upsetting it." The Doctor snapped off the screwdriver and transferred his weight to the knackered set of ladders.

Fergus closed his eyes, unable to watch the inevitable crash that would result as Time Lord and wood hit the grating.

But he heard nothing, and opened his eyes quickly to find the Time Lord advancing on him. He put a hand out cheerfully and took the mug of tea, not looking at the young Scot as he pretty much sank it in seconds.

He nodded to himself, then turned and handed him the empty mug, taking the other one instead. Fergus opened his mouth to protest, then thought better of it. He watched him sip it more slowly, turning to look back at the wall of wires he'd been playing with.

"What dae yi think it is?" he ventured.

"I don't know, it's just… bleeding power," the Time Lord muttered to himself.

"Well it's no me," Fergus said defensively.

The Doctor turned and looked at him steadily.

"No?" he asked innocently. "And what would you be doing that would make me think it _was_, Mister Campbell?" he asked airily.

"Ah'm trying to… Oh look, you said Ah couldnae work on that USB thing withoot a screwdriver, so Ah'm just looking intae making one fae masself," he said awkwardly.

The Doctor looked at him for a full second, his face frozen. Then his eyes went wide and he dragged in a deep breath, beginning to laugh.

"I know, I know," Fergus said sadly, as he watched the Doctor make absolutely no attempt whatsoever to control himself. He laughed loud and long, and Fergus reached out and took the mug of tea back off him, lest he spill it.

The Doctor managed to stop laughing and instead moaned in amusement, shaking his head and sniffing.

"Oh dear me," he wailed, his voice soaring the highest pitch, "you humans, eh?"

"Ah'm only trying," he said, trying not to get angry. The Doctor looked at him, swallowing and nodding, trying to appear more serious.

"Oh I know, I know," he said professionally, "don't get me wrong, Mister Campbell, I think it's a great idea," he added, taking the tea back off him and taking a sip. "Cracking tea, by the way," he said suddenly, then took another few mouthfuls. "What I mean is, you're probably never going to be able to _make_ a sonic screwdriver. _Well_," he added quickly, "not in the life span that a human has."

"So let me borrow yurs," he pleaded. "Yi know Ah won't lose it."

"Sorry mate, this little thing is staying with me," he said seriously. "Tell you what – you work out what you actually need to crack that thing, and I'll see what I can do in the way of chucking more suitable tools your way." He handed him the mug back.

"Excellent!" Fergus grinned.

The TARDIS suddenly jolted violently, throwing them both off their feet. Fergus held onto the cups for dear life, and they survived his fall to the grating.

He looked over at the Doctor but he was already finding his feet, staggering to the console holding the Time Rotor.

"Ah thought yi said we were anchored in thi vortex!" he accused, feeling the craft buck and heave under their feet. He did his best to stop from rolling around as the vessel lurched and pitched unevenly.

The Doctor was clinging to a small handle at the base of the Time Rotor to stay near the controls.

"We are," he shot back angrily, leaning over and yanking various handles and buttons. "But if the power's below compensation levels –"

There was an almighty crash and he was thrown to the floor. Fergus closed his eyes as he felt a tremendous pounding rip through him.

The grating appeared to jump and bang down suddenly. He heard glass crashing and tools spilling all over the ship. He looked over to find the Doctor still fighting to keep his feet during the bumpy ride.

"What the bloody hell is it?" he shouted at the Time Lord.

"Not good!" he shouted.

There was one final, almighty heave. The TARDIS slammed them into the grating with what felt like several G of inertia.

And then it all went silent and dark.


	2. Chapter 2

**TWO**

Gerressia, leader of the House of _G'mlee_, and very, _very_ bored human, watched the others argue and demand in the Hearing Room.

A hundred feet long and fifty feet wide, it currently held the heads of all the Houses, attempting to argue the case for their solution to the problem being bandied about like a soaking wet umbrella.

_Werrians_, she snorted derisively. _Why are they always so petulant?_

She sighed, letting her face sink into her hand, watching the leaders of the Houses.

Tall, wide and distinctly blue, they sported short, rather soft downy hair over their entire bodies. Small furry ears protruded from the very tops of their heads, sitting back-to-back and pointing outwards, twitching round with excitement at every new noise they picked up. Their long, sloping noses met small, cheerful-looking mouths, and yet they appeared somewhat baby-faced in complete incongruity with their heavy-set, stocky bodies.

"Your Grace!" someone shouted suddenly, and she sighed, turning to see who had called. "Your Grace! News!"

She sat up straight as the arguing leaders parted and paused in their debate, watching the male Werrian rush up and bob his head respectfully, keeping his eyes low on her feet.

"Stop that," she said irritably to the top of his furry head. "What is it?"

"Pink-Skins, your Grace!" he gasped, trying to get in air.

"What?" she demanded, startled. "From where?"

"We don't know, your Grace!" the male panted. She looked at him for a long moment.

"Frem, have you been drinking?" she asked resignedly.

"Not at all, your Grace!" he protested. "Colonel Du is with them now!"

"Colonel Du!" she repeated, already standing. She looked around the room at the faces of the other heads, watching her eagerly. "Fellow Heads," she said loudly. "This all sounds rather far-fetched. Please remain here, I'll go and see what all the fuss is about."

"But your G-" someone began.

"It's been decided," she said sternly, and turned back to Frem, the messenger. "Well then? Come on, I don't have all day. Get the horses."

He nodded eagerly and turned in the direction of the doors, skittering off. She marched after him.

_At last_, she grinned inwardly,_ other Terrans!_

-------------------------------------------------

Fergus opened his eyes and found it unexpectedly dim. He realised he was lying on his back, clutching two tea mugs. He started violently, remembering the way they must have crashed.

_But hoe dae yi crash in thi vortex?_

He rolled onto his side, looking around and getting up quickly, trying to let his eyes become accustomed to the dinginess.

"Skipper?" he called out quickly. He heard some low, grumbling sound and let himself breathe out in relief, walking round the grating to find the Doctor rolling onto his hands and knees with all the alacrity of a listing ship. "You in one piece, mate?" he asked, bending to help him up.

The Doctor let himself be righted.

"Yep," he said shortly, then looked around. "We have no power," he said suddenly, turning and running to the Time Rotor.

The near-darkness and absolute silence was eerie. Fergus had never seen the ship so silent and still. He looked over and watched the Doctor grab at controls and push levers and switches, noticing he was doing it without the aid of proper lighting, and very accurately too. But everything he touched or prodded remained silent and useless.

He turned and raced off. Fergus wandered over slowly in the gloom, setting the tea mugs down on what felt like a flat surface. He let his hands sink into his pockets and waited, hoping that whatever had befallen the beautiful ship could be corrected. Quickly.

The Doctor was back, careering down the ramp and bumping into the Time Rotor. He had something that bore a remarkable resemblance to a miner's helmet on his head, and it cast a perfect beam of bright light before him. He had a stethoscope round his neck and he stopped to press it to various parts of the control surface.

Fergus stepped back to give him room.

"Is she –"

"Sssh!" the Doctor hissed at him.

Fergus nodded and sniffed to himself, waiting. The Doctor eventually stood back, shaking his head.

"Dead."

"Deid?" Fergus spluttered, panicking. "What dae yi mean, deid?"

"I mean the power's off. Completely. Something's knocked several power lines out of whack," he said, biting his lip and looking around. "We're going to need… portable lamps, power meters… and I'm going to need all my small tools back that you've blagged over the last year," he said with an attempt at levity, taking off the helmet and shining the lamp around slightly.

"Fair enough," Fergus conceded, and the Doctor looked back at him.

"What?" he asked gingerly.

"Well… yi can fix her, right?" he dared. "Ah mean… Ah'm no wanting tae be stuck here all ma life, man."

"Oh believe me, neither am I," he said. "Speaking of which…" He handed Fergus the helmet and walked to the doors, opening one and looking out.

There was a yelp and he disappeared.

"Skipper?" Fergus called, alarmed. He dropped the helmet and rushed to the doors.

He looked out to find the collars of the Doctor's shirt and jacket in the immense hand of a blue soldier. The Doctor looked up at Fergus, opening his mouth quickly. Another blue, furry hand reached out and plucked the young Scot from the doorframe.

The Doctor simply sighed in resignation, the sound lost against the background of clinking metal and whinnying horses as Fergus was stood opposite him, looking apologetic.

"Let me see them!" someone said.

It was a harsh, authoritative voice and the Doctor moved to look round behind him. He was pushed roughly back into place and had to wait.

The sound of very heavy boots came from his right, and he looked over at Fergus. The much younger man was watching something past the Doctor's shoulder. He did not look pleased.

"What are you?" came a thick voice.

The Doctor snapped his head round to find a tall, wide, and definitely unpleasant bright blue mass of talking fur watching him with small, beady eyes.

"Lost?" the Doctor said gamely.

"Try again," the soldier sneered, bending down slightly to bring his face closer to the Time Lord's. "You smell of… metal," he said suspiciously, standing straight again.

"Sorry. Been tinkering," he said, and Fergus recognised false cheer. "Speaking of which, we really need to –"

"_What are you!_" the soldier shouted into his face.

The Doctor, far from looking shocked, simply let the amusement drain from his face and instead his chin started to jut ever so slightly.

"I told you: lost. As soon as you lot leave us to fix my ship, we're off," he said shortly.

The soldier stood back one, and the Doctor had time to look him up and down – mostly up, he realised. He took in the military uniform, the shiny pins and badges adorning the chest area. The soldier turned away suddenly, instead stalking over to Fergus.

"You," he spat, reaching out and grabbing the edge of Fergus's shirt in his large paw-like hand. He dragged him closer to him. "What are you?"

"Scottish," he said bravely, standing a little taller.

"What's that?" the soldier demanded. Fergus leaned back suddenly.

"_No_!" the Doctor shouted hastily.

Fergus froze, then looked over at the Doctor. He let out a slow breath and then straightened again.

"Ah'm from Earth," he said, more quietly. The soldier let go of him.

"What's that?" he demanded again.

"Oh blimey," the Doctor muttered to himself. "Look, oi! Hello!" he called tersely, as the blue male appeared to size up the smaller human in his grasp. "Oi! Major Smurf, I'm talking to you!"

The soldier turned and pinned him with a look that made the soldiers holding the Time Lord's arms hiss quietly to themselves in anticipation. He marched over and stood in front of the Doctor.

"Hi, hello," the Doctor said quickly. "Look, he's from this really, _really_ small little back-water place, it's about – honestly – about a million or two lightyears from here anyway, and it's _really_ not worth bothering with. Nothing to nick, no-one to conquer, you know the type –"

"Shut up!" the soldier bellowed into his face.

"There's no need to be rude," the Doctor carried on, his eyes hard, shaking his head. "Who's in charge here, anyway?"

"I am! I am Colonel Du of the North Forces. And you two are coming with me," he said decisively. He nodded at the soldiers and then turned and tipped fingers at the men holding Fergus by the shoulders.

The two Off-Worlders were turned around and heavy metal shackles were placed on their wrists. They clicked firmly together as they locked, and then they were turned in the mud, the grass churned under them in the slick brown gunk. The Doctor didn't say another word, just watched the soldiers carefully.

Fergus let himself be pushed along in silence, watching the Doctor for any sign that it was time to make a fast exit. Instead, the Doctor simply waited calmly while a horse and cart was prepared for the prisoners.

Colonel Du himself pushed them onto the back of the cart, slapping the rear panel up and securing it with the wooden stake. He looked at the two soldiers sitting either side of the Doctor, then at the two boxing in Fergus, and nodded.

They nodded back and the Colonel walked off, round to the driver of the cart. He spoke to him quickly and then slapped at the side of the cart.

As the cart pulled away, the Doctor watched him curiously, only actually looking away when the Colonel had walked to his horse and mounted up, turning his magnificent white beast to follow.


	3. Chapter 3

**THREE**

Fergus watched as the Doctor was unloaded from the cart and pushed against the brick wall. The soldiers turned to the younger man, prodding him to get off the cart, and then to stand next to the Time Lord.

"What do we do noe?" he whispered hoarsely.

"Follow my lead," the Doctor replied quickly. "Just don't start a fight, Mister Campbell. There's more than one way out of here."

"Aye, but no withoot that claw baw getting a kicking," he said darkly. The Doctor looked at him and Fergus caught his stare like a slap to the nose. "Alright, Ah know," he sighed resignedly. The Doctor looked round him as the large Colonel re-appeared.

"You two will explain what you're doing here, and where you're from," he growled.

"We're lost, and we're looking to fix our ship," the Doctor said firmly.

The Colonel lashed out and back-handed the Doctor smartly across the face. He reached down and grabbed him by the throat.

"Hae!" Fergus shouted angrily. He reached out, grabbing at the huge uniformed elbow.

The Colonel didn't even acknowledge his grip. Instead he squeezed his fingers, seething.

"You feeble little pink-skinned monkey," he breathed at the Time Lord choking in his grip.

Fergus felt the blood in his ears.

"Oi!" he barked sharply. He saw the Doctor struggling to speak past a collapsing wind-pipe. "Sae that again, yi pish-brained bastard ye! Ah'll stoat yir teeth in!"

The Colonel dropped the Doctor and instead turned on Fergus. He ripped his elbow clear of the smaller human's grip, ready to flatten him if he spoke again.

But he paused as Fergus eyed him. The human was using the same look a crazed, rabid terrier pulls on a much heavier Rottweiler moments before it quite unexpectedly rips the larger dog's throat out.

"You two," the Colonel said, ignoring the sound of the Doctor coughing and dragging in air hurriedly, "will tell me the truth."

Fergus looked at the Doctor, putting his manacled hands to his arm. He pushed him up and the Doctor grabbed at the wall, using it to help him stand straight. He nodded at Fergus, still coughing and massaging his throat, as two soldiers grabbed them by the arms and pushed them on to walk along the wall.

They were pushed through a barn door and Fergus was pulled to the far wall, the manacles round his wrists chained to another, looped against the wooden slats. He watched the soldiers unchain the Doctor's hands, yank off his brown suit jacket, and then sit him on a chair.

He plonked down harshly, looking up immediately. His large eyes were round with a harsh glare that Fergus had come to recognise as a signal that the Time Lord's patience had come to a neat end.

Colonel Du walked over as if he had all the time in the world, his blue hands behind his back, stopping just behind the Doctor's chair.

"We don't welcome your kind here," he said darkly.

"My kind?" the Doctor asked tightly. "What's that?"

"Non-Werrians," he said.

"This is Werria? I _thought_ the blue fur should have –"

"Shut up!" he snapped, marching round the front of him. "You are small, and weak. It won't take me long to make you tell me everything I want to know!"

"What _do_ you want to know?" the Doctor asked plainly. Fergus shifted against the wall, feeling perhaps a slight weakness in one side of the panel to which his loop was attached.

"Where are you from?" the Colonel demanded.

"He's from Earth. I'm from the constellation of Kasterborous," he said slowly.

"Where's that?" he demanded.

The Doctor moved to put his hands in his pockets but the Colonel nodded to the man stood behind him. He bent over and grabbed the Time Lord's wrists, pulling them behind the backrest of the chair and chaining them again.

"Ow!" he barked irritably. "Is all this really nece-"

"Where is this Earth? This Kasterborous?" he shouted into his face.

"I've told you, it's millions of lightyears from your world!" he shouted back angrily.

"From _my_ world?" the Colonel shot back. "There _are_ no other worlds!"

"Look at us! Where do you think we're from!"

"The reject hospital, of course!" he shouted.

The Doctor paused, blinking. "You have a reject hospital?" he asked himself, baffled. His face screwed up in abject confusion. "Why would you have a –"

"Enough!" Colonel Du heaved, straightening away from the Time Lord. He looked over his head to the soldier behind, and he walked around slowly. Du stood back and the man stepped up in front of the Doctor, cracking large knuckles.

"Afternoon," the Doctor hazarded gamely. The soldier cracked the knuckles of his other hand, and the Doctor's attempt at a cheerful half-smile evaporated. "Oh."

The soldier drew back his fist and swept it forwards. The Doctor pushed desperately to one side. The flash of blue fur sailed past his face so closely he felt the rush of air. He was just congratulating himself when he felt warm, fuzzy fingers grab at his hair painfully. The next thing he felt was a small truck colliding with his face.

The soldier let go of the Doctor's hair. His head simply toppled forward and hung limply, and the soldier stepped back one, shaking his head.

"Pink-Skins," he scoffed. Du cleared his throat and the soldier snapped to attention.

"Bring the other one," he said, looking over at Fergus. "He looks to be made of sterner stuff."

"Colonel Du!" came a shout, and Fergus jumped.

For one thing, it was female. For another, it had so much authority and anger that he was compelled to look round to find the owner, lest he find himself in her way.

The chains on his wrists felt real enough to Fergus, as did the smell of wood and horses. The bitter draught through the wooden slats of the barn reminded him he was only wearing an Oasis t-shirt and jeans, but he forgot all this as he gazed upon the most amazing human woman he'd ever seen.

She must have been nearly six-foot tall, he reasoned, with long, flowing brown hair and piercing grey eyes. She had a nose and cheekbones from Greek mythology and her black waistcoat covered a very fitted brown blouse, the neckline of which Fergus found himself appreciating very much. Her black trousers could have been painted on, they were so fitted, as were her knee high black boots.

"Your Grace," Du said immediately, standing back from the Doctor's chair. He kicked at the Time Lord's shin painfully. The head stirred and the Doctor was just blinking round in the hazy light, piecing things together, as the spectacular woman marched over, smacking a thin riding crop against her leg determinedly.

Fergus felt his breath catch in his throat.

She stalked over to stand in front of the Doctor, eyeing him before turning on Colonel Du.

"Just what on Werria are you doing, Colonel?" she shouted angrily, and Fergus swallowed as the large soldier actually took a slight step back. Suddenly he didn't blame him.

"Questioning, your Grace," he said tightly. Whether it was from her anger or upset at her disapproval, Fergus couldn't be sure, but suddenly Colonel Du was not the same male.

"You call this 'questioning'?" she demanded, leaning down and putting her hand under the Doctor's chin. She lifted it and looked his face over quickly, tutting. "You saw he was a Pink-Skin and immediately decided to beat the shit out of him until he did something for your amusement?" she demanded, staring at the Time Lord.

He looked back at her, blinking at a slightly fuzzy head.

"And you are?" he asked, past caring.

"I am Gerressia, head of the _G'mlee_," she said thoughtfully. She raised his chin in her hand, turning his face to look over his left eye, which, had it been fortunate enough to have seen tomorrow's edition of the newspaper, would have known it was about to start forming a huge, ugly purple bruise. "Who are you?" she asked curiously.

"I'm the Doctor. He's Mister Campbell," he said a little blearily.

She let go of his face, straightening and looking around the barn.

"Oh! Another one!" she said, finding Fergus simply staring at the scene playing out in front of him. Then she turned and looked down at the Doctor, her hands on her hips.

"Did you say a doctor?" she asked, surprised. "You don't _look_ like a doctor," she said, amused.

"And you don't look like you want to hold us," he said firmly.

She smiled, leaning down and watching his eyes study hers with voracious curiosity.

"Oh," she breathed with a devious glint in her grey eyes, "I think I do."

The Doctor simply held her gaze, unfazed. Fergus swallowed as she looked away from the Doctor slowly, and trained her attention on the younger man, walking over slowly and tilting her head to one side.

"Campbell, is it?" she asked sternly.

"Aye," he managed.

She was even more stunning close-up. He felt heat in his face. And perhaps other places too, if he were being honest.

"Why are you here?" she demanded.

"We crashed," he said lamely.

"Crashed? Crashed what?" she asked, confused.

"Mister Campbell," the Doctor said suddenly, warningly. Gerressia turned and looked back at him, then at Fergus.

"Oh, I see," she said. "You're the grunt, _he's_ the commander?"

"It's my fault we're here," the Doctor interrupted quickly, "he didn't have anything to do with our ship crash–"

"Silence!" she called quickly, turning and looking at the Doctor. She looked back at Fergus, then at the Doctor.

She walked slowly back to stand between the Doctor and Colonel Du, folding her arms. She looked the Doctor over more closely, obviously finding something agreeable.

"It seems your lives are in my hands, Doctor," she said, slightly amused. "What will you do to convince me they're worth saving?"

"If we're on Werria and no-one likes 'Pink-Skins' down here, how are you in charge?" he asked suddenly.

She smiled.

"Perhaps I'm not really a Pink-Skin," she said, and the Doctor sensed Colonel Du's slight shift in weight.

"Perhaps you're not _just_ a Pink-Skin," he said thoughtfully.

"Perhaps you're not either," she said, amused.

"Look, just let us get back to our ship and I promise you, as soon as it's fixed, we're leaving," he said firmly.

She frowned and then turned to look up at Du.

"Colonel Du," she said commandingly, and he snapped-to smartly. "You will take these two to my premises. They will be prisoners of the House of _G'mlee_ and no-one and nothing must stop you from taking them to my own holding cells, do you understand me?" she barked.

"Yes, your Grace!" he snapped.

"Go."

"Yes, your Grace!"

"And Du," she said suddenly, turning and looking at him. "If you hurt either of these two again, you'll take their place in the cells. Take care not to let them come to harm."

"Yes, your Grace," he added, somewhat sourly. She watched him order his men about, then stepped back to watch the two Off-Worlders be marched out of the barn.

She stood on her own for another moment or so, thinking. Then she grinned suddenly, walking out after them.


	4. Chapter 4

**FOUR**

Fergus was marched down a long, damp corridor whose stonework appeared to be propped up by the slime encasing it. He tugged experimentally at the chains on his wrists, but they were more than up to their job.

The large soldier escorting him grabbed his shoulder, stopping him at an equally large iron door. He pushed him to one side, produced a heavy-looking set of keys, and rammed one into the lock.

He pushed Fergus in front of him and into the cell slowly, lumbering after the smaller male. He ignored the three other occupants of the cell, instead pushing Fergus to the far wall and linking his wrist chains to the secured chain along the wall.

He stood back, eyed the other inmates with disdain, and lumbered out again.

"No phone call then?" Fergus managed, watching the man slam the iron door. The key rattled in the lock and then the sound of his heavy footfall slowly faded into the distance.

Fergus looked at the other three.

All three males, in various shapes and conditions, looked back at him. Two of them, a little shorter, and to be honest, weedier than him, swallowed and began to lean back against the wall, glad of the shadows, it seemed. Fergus dismissed them much the same way as he had every punter smaller than him in a nightclub queue.

But the third surprised him. Taller than himself and wearing a clean military uniform, the young male looked back at him with cautious curiosity. He was of a similar build to Fergus, with that same light blue, downy Werrian fur covering him where the uniform did not.

His light beige uniform jacket fitted him perfectly, his trousers and shiny black boots only reinforcing the idea that all soldiers were built like brick-privvies.

"Evening," Fergus said politely, nodding. The male blinked. "Am Ah tae assume wir not in here fae theft?" he hazarded.

The male let his head tilt, then nodded thoughtfully.

"It would appear not," he said nervously. "Norra," he said, inclining his head.

"Fergus Campbell," he said genially.

"If you do not mind me asking, what _are_ you, Mr Fergus?" he asked, looking over his tufty dark blonde-come-light brown hair and green eyes in quiet curiosity.

"No, yir alright, Ah'm just Fergus," he said helpfully. "Ah'm not from round here, Ah huv tae sae," he added apologetically. "What's this all aboot then?"

Norra blinked his small, dark eyes. "Fighting?" he prompted, as if it should be obvious. "They say I am a spy for the House of _T'riff_, my friend. Although, as you can see, I was until recently a soldier for the _G'mlee_. Before that, I ran a metalry in the high street."

"Ah see," he said. "Well, perhaps you'd know hoe tae get us oot of these chains, then?"

"I am afraid not," he said unhappily. "This is not as it appears to be."

"Oh," he sighed, nodding, "it's one o' _them_ days again, no?"

-------------------------------------------------

Gerressia walked into the clean but Spartan apartment slowly, waiting for the two guards to frog-march the tall, strangely calm man in with them.

She turned as she heard the door start to close.

"Wait," she barked, and the guards stopped immediately. "Unchain him," she ordered.

The Doctor held his wrists out helpfully and one man produced a key, unlocking and removing the rather heavy manacles from his limbs. He didn't even look at him; instead he turned and bowed to Gerressia. She made a shooing gesture with one hand and he nodded, walking out and pushing his colleague with him.

The Doctor walked back to the chair by the door, picking up his jacket and pulling it on slowly, hissing as his shoulder cracked audibly. He turned slowly as he buttoned it up, his large eyes taking in everything in the room.

"I think we have a few things in common," she said suddenly, and he looked round at her.

"Hmm? In common?" he asked, pre-occupied. "Oh, the mud," he realised, catching sight of his Converse, splattered with the stuff.

"And… problems," she said. "Tell me about this ship of yours. Where is it?" she asked quickly.

"Why?"

"We're a little far from the water, Doctor. Where is it?" she pressed, walking closer. He stood his ground, meeting her gaze easily, despite the warm air that seemed to have suddenly begun to circulate the room.

"Which way's the water?" he asked mildly, watching her search his eyes intently.

"Your ship doesn't need water, I think," she said, walking just a step too close. He almost shifted back, but something made him stand a little taller. "And you don't smell of horses." She pushed her face closer to his, turning it slightly at the last moment, drawing in a slight breath through her nose. "No… Not horses. You smell of… metal, and… man, and… loneliness," she breathed, close to his ear.

"I wasn't aware that _had_ a smell," he said amiably, apparently unmoved. She drew her head back slowly.

"Shows what you know," she said with the barest of smiles. His eyes followed her as she stepped back one. "I have a few questions," she said slowly, watching his expression.

"Go on then. As long as it's not '_who put the bop in the bop shoo bop shoo bop?_'," he said helpfully. "Never did figure that one out."

"Humour," she said with a grin, nodding, "But of course. Now tell me about your ship."

"It's, er… big," he began, as she turned away and walked to a table, picking up a decanter and a small wine glass. He put a hand to the back of his head, rubbing slowly. "It's got little windows and even a phone – _well_, it doesn't work – _well_, it does but not – _well_, it's still a _phone_, and – look, I don't wish to be rude seeing as you've just had me released from a particularly nasty chair, but who _are_ you?" he said suddenly, walking over to the table and standing next to her.

She turned and simply handed him the glass, now full of some kind of red wine.

"I am the mistress of the House of _G'mlee_. And I need help," she said simply.

"House of _G'mlee_?" he prompted, lost. "Are there many houses?"

"About nine. They've been fighting little turf wars for centuries. Just about sixty years ago they finished the most recent, biggest one. The house of _T'riff_ was declared the winner, and the other major eight houses agreed to be bound and ruled by them ever after."

"Right," he said flatly.

"Quite," she said with a small smile. "They might have lied about the 'ever after' bit."

"So you lot are now hedging your bets before proper war starts, trying to get as many houses together before it all kicks off?" he asked, lifting the red wine and taking a mouthful. He paused and looked down at it appreciatively.

She looked at him, reaching out and picking up the other glass. She filled it and took a long sip.

"Yes," she said, then looked at him. "What would you do?"

"What would I do?" he asked, confused. "I'd fix my ship and leave."

"But the situation is the same over the sea," she said slyly. "Your ship doesn't sail on _water,_ does it? And you're not a normal nobleman, are you?" she added curiously, turning toward him.

"_Do_ have a lot of water on the ship, actually," he pointed out cheerfully. "Mostly in the bath. Although, sometimes, when you're busy and you forget it's running, you know, it kinda gets all over the floo-"

"Your skin, your hands – you're not a normal 'Pink-Skin'," she said suddenly. "You've never touched anything but buttons and levers all your life, have you?"

"What?" he asked, confused. "How do you –"

"And your clothes! You wear them very well, but I suspect you chose them without any idea whatsoever of the impact they have," she said, taking a step toward him.

"Ah – now," he began quickly, raising his hands as if to keep her back, "I do get a lot of grief for this suit, but I do actually like it. It wasn't the _only_ thing that would have fitted me in the wardrobe, contrary to popular belief, but it –"

"I like it on you," she said warmly, and he stopped short, eyeing her.

"Um. Oh," he managed, his voice unexpectedly high-pitched. He cleared his throat quickly.

"But I'd like it more _off_ you," she said.

He took a hasty step back.

"Now, Gerressia, love, there's a few things I'd really like to know–"

"Like?" she asked, reaching out for his glass and putting it back on the table without looking.

"Who put the ram in the rama lama ding dong?" he hazarded. "That's been bugging me for years too – always thought I should find Barry Mann and just ask–"

"Pretending again?" she grinned, advancing on him with intent. He stepped back quickly, finding the wall in his back and stopping abruptly.

"Um –"

"You poor man. No-one _knows_, do they?" she said slowly, following him and stopping to lean against him firmly. "Don't you get tired of pretending?"

He stared down at her. "How _do_ you-"

"Listen," she said, sliding her hands to his face. "I have a proposition for you. Give me what I want, right here, right now, and I'll give you what you need."

"Are we still talking houses and ships?" he squeaked, willing himself not to jump as she drew her hands down his face and to his chest slowly.

"Maybe," she purred, turning her face up to his. He just stared at her and she found herself lost in the deep pools of brown confusion. She slid her hands to the buttons on his jacket firmly.

"Er –"

"You poor thing," she said warmly. "You've seen so much. But you have no-one to go home to, no-one to do this for you, have you," she said knowingly. "It's no fun when there's no-one to share it with, is it?"

"Well. Er –" he began. But she leaned her face up closer to his. Suddenly it was all he could do to stop the jumble of images, the half-forgotten and only half-realised memories of the scent and feel of a woman, eyes so vibrant, so close to his.

And then, unthinkably, six foot one inch of Gallifreyan let her unbutton his jacket.

She slid her hands inside slowly, wondering why his eyes simply tossed and flipped like ship-wrecking waves.

It was too much and she stepped back abruptly, out of his reach.

"I'm sorry. This just isn't right," she said, looking away from his large eyes, bright with innocent confusion. "It's just that I thought it'd be easier. It's not." She raised her hand slowly. "This was all I wanted," she said, then blinked. "_Is._ _Is_ all I _want_," she corrected quickly, sounding slightly unsure.

His face darkened abruptly and he stepped toward her, putting his hand out for his screwdriver.

"Give it back," he said curtly.

She marvelled at the speed with which he went from puzzled schoolboy to group leader, and a few things clicked.

"Oh I'll give it back to you, don't worry," she said, letting her hand drop. "Just as soon as you've seen what I want you to see."

"Now look, Gerressia, I don't know how you lot do things down here, but I do _not_ go around –"

"Oh, I'm quite sure you don't," she said, more quietly. "Come with me," she said warmly.

She put her hand out and took his in a firm grip, feeling the odd coolness and pulling on it. He didn't protest, but his face indicated great wheels turning behind his narrowed eyes.

"Give me one good reason," he breathed seriously.

"I'll do better than that," she said with a sudden, devious smile. "I'll _show_ you."


	5. Chapter 5

**FIVE**

Gerressia pulled him through to a smaller room, leading him in and closing the door quietly behind them.

"Nice," he said guardedly, his eyes dark with suspicion.

She smiled, walking round him and straight to the bed, sitting on it comfortably.

"Now promise me one thing, Doctor," she said.

"Look, Gerressia, if you think you've brought me here to –"

"Just _listen_. No-one's ever seen this before, I'm taking a big risk here," she said quickly. She leaned down and put her hand under the bed, pulling out a box. She got up, walking over to him and holding it out. "There."

"And this is what you wanted my screwdriver for?" he hazarded, his face still unimpressed. He took the box in a very off-hand fashion, looking at it.

"Yes," she said, oddly nervously.

It was a plain box, a foot square, made of thin, brown wood. He looked at her, then at the box. Then he lifted one corner of the lid, looking in.

"Ooooh!" he gushed suddenly, surprising her with his large grin and wide, enthusiastic eyes. "Just what are _you_?"

He ripped off the lid and tossed it to the bed carelessly. He tilted the box up to see more clearly, hissing and chuckling to himself delightedly. She simply watched, smiling and folding her arms.

"Is this a… Looks like a kind of… De-polarises… something like… oscillating power feed… er… regulators?" he asked himself quietly.

"So you _do_ know what it is," she said, relieved.

"Of course! It's a – um – an oscillating power feed regulator de-polarisor thing," he said confidently, still staring at it, his large eyes glowing with excitement. She chuckled unexpectedly. "And – sorry – where did you get this?" he asked quickly.

"From my ship," she said suddenly. His head snapped up to look at her.

"Your ship?" he prompted. "Werrians don't _have_ ships – they don't even believe in other planets."

"Do I look Werrian to you?" she said with a friendly smile.

"How do you have a ship?" he asked directly.

"If you honestly think all the 'Pink-Skins' on Werria are really deformed infants and not just aliens, you're not the man I'm looking for," she said dryly.

"Ship?" he prompted.

"Want to see?" she asked slyly.

He looked back at the shiny instrument in the box, then back at her.

"Do daleks have sink plungers?" he said mildly, putting his hand in the box and taking out the small, metal item.

"Not all of them, and not any more," she said wisely, putting her hands to his shirt and turning him round swiftly. "Now come on, we have a lot to cover."

"Wait – there's a few things on _my_ ship I'll need first," he said quickly.

She stopped and looked slightly up at him, then smiled slowly.

"Ok. Let's go get your tools – we're going to get dirty."

"And Mister Campbell, my friend," he said firmly. She arched an eyebrow at him.

"Well… Put it this way," she said slowly. "I've waited too long for help, and I'm not about to let this chance go. I need to make sure you know how to handle your tools. First," she added uneasily.

"You don't want him around?" he asked curiously. "Why?"

"Wouldn't want him walking in when we were busy," she allowed.

He just fixed her with his wide eyes, his chin jutting out slightly, and she smiled.

"Oh don't worry – he's perfectly safe, _and_ comfortable. I told Colonel Du to house him at my private estate for the night, he'll be well cared for."

"This is going to take all night?" he asked, surprised.

"For what I have in mind? Abso_lute_ly," she grinned, pushing him through the door and out.

-------------------------------------------------

Fergus slid down the wall slowly, scrubbing his hands through his short hair slowly and thinking.

"Do not worry," Norra said helpfully, from the other side of the cell. "I am sure they will remember to bring us breakfast this time."

"No, Ah'm no worrying, Ah'm thinking hoe far we are from the TAR– from our ship," he said, looking up at last.

"You have a ship?" Norra asked, confused. "But we are so far inland."

"Aye, don't Ah know it," he said miserably. "All we huv tae do is figure oot hoe tae get back tae it." He paused. "Except it's cream-crackered – thir's no power," he remembered, slapping his palm into his forehead.

"Ah, but once you are aboard, you can build enough fire for fresh steam, could you not?" he said. "You… Would you consider taking me with you?" he asked quickly.

"Aye, we might. Huv tae ask the Skipper, mind," he said.

"Ah, I see. You are the First Mate, are you?" he asked.

"Ah'm his _only_ mate," he said miserably. "Purr wee bastard. Cannae be much of a life, likesay. Ah'm all thi excitement he gets – and that's only cos tae begin with he wanted tae show me the wonders of thi universe. Noe he spends all his time telling me off and running aroond causing trouble cos Ah'm thir egging him on," he pointed out, shaking his head sadly. "Purr wee bastard," he reiterated.

They heard the heavy footfall of lumbering guards and looked up, surprised, as two of them stopped by the large iron door.

They looked at each other across the cell.

"If he touches either of us, we go fae 'im," Fergus said determinedly, getting to his feet quickly. Norra nodded, drawing himself up.

The door swung open, but the guards didn't move in.

Instead, the Doctor walked in leisurely, hands in his pockets, a large, daffy grin on his face.

"Morning Mister Campbell!" he cried cheerfully, and Fergus stared at him.

"What in thi name of James Curran Baxter are _you_ doing here?" he asked, baffled.

"I've come to get you out, Mister Campbell. Coming like that or do you have stuff to pack?" he asked cheerily. Fergus just shook his head.

"What happened?" he asked. "Ah thought we were here fae eternity."

"No no, just till breakfast," the Doctor allowed, suddenly not meeting his eyes as he rubbed at the back of his head lightly.

"Well then, get us oot, man," he said happily, lifting his shackled wrists. "And ma friend here," he added quickly.

The Doctor looked up at him, then followed his gaze past his arm and to the man chained to the opposite wall.

"How do you do," the male Werrian said nervously. "Er… Are you the man travelling with Fergus?" he asked.

"I am. And you are?"

"Norra. Please excuse the uniform," he added, unsure.

"Of course," the Doctor allowed with a friendly smile. He lifted his chin to look back at the large iron door. "Gentlemen!" he called.

The guards walked in and over to Norra and Fergus, unlocking the chains and tipping fingers to their foreheads at the Doctor. Then they turned and lumbered away.

"Ah don't understand," Fergus said slowly.

"And you don't need to," the Doctor said, waving at the door. "Come on then, out and at 'em."

"At who?" Fergus asked.

"Right now? Anyone blue. Follow me," he said cautiously, stepping in front of the two men and starting off down the corridor.

-------------------------------------------------

Fergus lifted the sliver of bread, slapping it enthusiastically over the top of the slab of hot meat. He lifted the impromptu sandwich and did his best to get a huge bite out of it.

Norra, perched on the wooden barrel not ten feet away, watched with amazement.

"Do all males value food so where you come from?" he asked politely.

"Only when they've not eaten in daes!" Fergus managed through a mouthful of beef-like sandwich. Norra nodded reasonably, then his attention was drawn to the sounds of tinkering and dirty chuckling coming from the trapdoor in the floor of the barn.

"What are they doing?" he asked bluntly, peering into the darkness.

"Och, Ah huv a pretty good idea," Fergus chomped, biting at the sandwich again. He chewed it as best he could and swallowed it down. "Oi!" he called at the trapdoor. "You'll no be forgetting us purr wee waifs oot here, Skipper!"

There was a silence and then the Doctor's head popped out of the trapdoor. His left eye, under his glasses, was taking the business of turning shiny purple very seriously. The rest of his face was sprinkled with some kind of brownish coloured dust.

"Of course not, Mister Campbell," he said brightly, and Fergus noticed a certain spark to his eyes that had previously been absent for quite a while.

"Doctor!" came a female voice, and the Time Lord avoided the young Scot's gaze suddenly. "We've still got three inline augmenters and a Rigian particle-scoop to realign!"

"You've got a Rigian particle-scoop?" he gasped delightedly. "You never mentioned a Rigian particle-scoop! I haven't seen one of those in –"

"Well get down here now or you never will!" came the giggly response.

The Doctor didn't look at Fergus as he reached out and picked up a smaller spanner, disappearing back down the trapdoor.

"Sad, isn't it," Fergus said to himself, biting at the sandwich again.

"Pardon?" Norra asked, now completely lost.

"Well, if it were just the bird doon there, Ah wouldnae worry – he'd be back up withoot even clocking she was female," he said, as if to himself. "But so many shiny parts and engineering puzzles? And a bird that knoes where all those parts go? Ah don't think we'll ever get him oot," he shrugged, chewing thoughtfully. He turned and looked at Norra suddenly. "Do you no have a pub doon here?"

"We do have a hostelry," he said brightly, and Fergus grinned.

"Well why did ye not sae?" he said, springing off the barrel. "Let's go then. This sandwich is a bit dry on it's own."


	6. Chapter 6

**SIX**

"So. How long have you been on Werria?" the Doctor asked, picking up the tiny screwdriver and sliding it into the equally tiny slot in the panel.

She was kneeling next to him, watching him work, holding the power meter carefully.

"Nearly ten years, now," she said quietly. "It was… 2512 when I left the Terran System. Some pirates _we_ were," she scoffed, and he glanced at her.

"You were a pirate?"

"A pretty good one, actually," she grinned. "Me and my crew haunted the usual shipping lanes from Terra to Mars, but eventually we had to leave for more valuable spoils."

"How did you end up here?" he asked, confused. He put the power meter down and put his hand out, and she picked up the long-handled needle-nose pliers. He took them without looking, applying them to the small screw head in his sights.

"We kinda had trouble with something I've come to understand was a wormhole," she said gingerly.

"Let me guess, a huge rippling tide of something that didn't register on your ship's sensors, but sucked you in and spat you out somewhere over Werria."

"Exactly," she said, raising her eyebrows at him. "I should have known you'd be an expert on wormholes."

"Passing acquaintance," he allowed with a small smile.

"I'll bet," she said ruefully. "Anyway, we were stranded in a decaying orbit around this ball. Didn't have enough working guidance systems or power to get us out of the planet's pull, and eventually we crashed."

"You were the only survivor?" he asked, handing the pliers back to thin air. She took them from him, looking down at the slightly rusty tools on the floor next to her.

"Oscillating spanner?" she offered.

"Spanner-iron," he said helpfully, still staring at his fingers and the wires under them.

She picked up the stubby tool and slapped it into his free palm. He put it to the wires, bracing it over the screw head firmly.

"I was the only survivor," she confirmed slowly. "Five crew mates – four of them very good friends – all died in the crash. I wandered, no idea what this place was, but managed to convince people I was a long-lost Pink-Skin reject daughter of the House of _G'mlee_," she sighed.

"To find a way off this planet again?" he asked, letting his hand down and dropping the iron, instead picking up and flipping the sonic screwdriver round in his fingers.

"Absolutely. I cannot _wait_ to get shot of this slimy pit," she said shortly. "Pretending to be a ruler of a House has is advantages, but they're getting less and less tolerant of a non-Werrian in a position of authority – you saw what the Colonel did. I told him to do one thing, he decided to put poor Fergus in that dungeon instead," she added, her eyes and voice dark.

"Hmm. Rather a large chip on his shoulder, that bloke," the Doctor observed, sounding a little pre-occupied.

"Don't I know it. I've managed to stay one step ahead of him so far, sheerly through bullying, bribing and plain old allure," she said with a sudden bright smile.

The Doctor smiled to himself as his fingers busied around the screwdriver.

"Well I'd say it's working," he said agreeably.

"The bullying and bribing? Or the allure?" she asked slyly. He didn't pause in his work.

"_Well_, in the words of Meatloaf, two out of three ain't bad," he grinned to himself, and she nodded, her smile dropping a shade.

"Anyway, I had to stay in a position of power, or how else would I ever find anyone to help me fix this old thing?" she asked.

The ship, _her_ ship, was mostly buried in soil and filth, obscured by nearly ten years' worth of landslides caused by the ship's original crash-landing. And yet she had uncovered the nose and the part of the fuselage needed to repair the engines, whose engineer's flap they were now crouched under.

"Look," she said uncomfortably, "you do believe me, don't you? That I _am_ sorry for taking your screwdriver."

"You could have just asked."

"Would you have even thought about it?" she asked seriously. He paused to glance at her.

"I would." He turned back to watch his fingers carefully. "I would have thought about it and decided that firing up your ship would have been worth the risk of being found and shot as a 'Pink-Skin' – especially as we seemed to be down for that fate in the first place anyway. Wouldn't have been any harm in having a quick tinker before avoiding the usual death and destruction."

"Really?" she asked, surprised at his serenity. "I guess I had you all wrong, Doctor."

"Well _that_ was evident by the way you took my screwdriver," he said mildly. "We'll put it down to you being desperate and tarring everyone with the same brush."

"I know, I…" She sighed wretchedly. "Look, I've pulled that stunt on other people – all kinds of males, and a few females, if I'm being honest – but I just couldn't… Well I couldn't look you in the eye and pretend."

"Pretend what?" he asked mildly, sounding pre-occupied as he worked.

"Well, that… Look, I couldn't just kiss you and steal the damned thing," she said shortly. "It would have hurt."

"I don't bite," the Doctor said to himself.

"Not me, _you_," she said forcefully. "I'm sorry! That was rude of me!" she added quickly.

But he just watched his fingers work, his face impassive, and it was silent for a long few minutes.

"You know, I meant what I said," she said quietly, turning back to watch him work.

"Hmm?" he prompted.

"I have never seen a man so good with inertial damper coils," she smiled.

"_Oh_, had a few of them, here and there," he said, trying to keep the pride out of his voice.

"And bypassing the main exhaust releasers to relieve pressure on the plasma vents – very creative," she teased.

"Oh well. If you're the only one who's been keeping the back-up power and systems going on this thing for the past ten years, then it's _you_ who's the genius," he said cheerfully. "Using local parts? In this day and age?" he stressed, his voice high-pitched but nonetheless admiring. "I mean, stripping down spade handles and using the filaments to jam open forward power coupling regulators? In_spir_ed," he gushed.

"So do you think we can get this to fly again? Between us?" she asked with a smile.

"Oh I should think so," he said easily, sparing her an encouraging grin before looking back at his work.

She leaned against his shoulder and pulled his glasses down his nose slightly. He looked at her over the top of them, unsure, his friendly grin dying by degrees.

"And when it's going?" she asked quietly. "What then, Doctor? Would you come with me?"

He looked at her for a long moment. She watched his eyes, full of some huge, unspeakable turmoil. He let his eyes roll to one side, his mouth working for a second without sound.

"I know you're not Terran, Doctor," she said quietly, and he looked back at her quickly.

"And how do you know that?" he asked, quietly alarmed.

"There's just something that gives you away," she said slyly, putting her hand out and slipping it inside his suit jacket. She slid it over his shirt slowly. Her hand stopped and she let her smile widen. "And there it is. Are they _supposed_ to go that fast?" she asked knowingly.

"It's the – um – ship," he said, stumbling slightly over his words. "Don't get to see one of these old things every-"

"Really?" she asked, leaning on his shoulder and outstretched arm gently. "I haven't seen a Terran in ten years, Doctor. And up until a few minutes ago, he was sat out there – after you'd manipulated me to engineer his release, which not many people could have done – waiting for you to get my ship going again. He's a good man, you know. He looks up to you. In all things."

"You're incredible. –Incredibly _perceptive_," he corrected quickly.

"Do you know something else? He believes you can do absolutely anything."

"Really?" he managed, his voice barely audible in its squeak.

"Absolutely," she said warmly. "Can you?"

"Do what?"

"Do absolutely anything?"

"I'll – well – try anything – um – once," he allowed.

She grinned.

"I was hoping you'd say that."

-------------------------------------------------

"And where is she now?" Frem asked quietly.

Colonel Du, his arms folded and his gaze unwavering, wrestled with himself for a long moment.

"In the abandoned barn, about twenty krenns from the city," he said eventually.

"And she's with the Pink-Skins?" Frem demanded, remembering to keep his voice low.

"She is."

"What's she doing? She is supposed to find Pink-Skins and have them shot, not make friends with them," he said. "I know she's a reject herself, but she must understand the law."

"This I know," Du said heavily. "I… I have a problem," he offered suddenly.

Frem paused in his frantic thinking and looked up at him. He studied the much taller male's blue face, finding it odd that something outside of his job should occupy any of his mind at all.

"Well?" he asked impatiently.

"Mistress Gerressia…" he began, then hesitated. "The penalty for hiding Pink-Skins is… so very harsh," he said, troubled.

Frem's face cleared, then he leaned forward and patted the taller male's arm soothingly.

"My dear Colonel, should we find her actually consorting with these rejects of nature, I think I could find a way to commute the sentence," he said, pleased.

"You are sure?" he asked. "I find the idea of punishing her… troubling."

"I am sure you do," he said quietly. "It's no secret you have a slight… fondness of the Mistress Gerressia," he allowed, choosing to ignore the slightly affronted look on the Colonel's face. "I'm sure that… if such a need should arise… we could arrange for her sentence to simply be… one of a more custodial one? Say… a partnership, a pairing, with someone who would be able to guide her, protect her?" he said with a slight smile.

"That would seem… more appropriate," he said quietly.

"Wouldn't it?" Frem beamed. "So go on then, go find her and find out what she's doing. And if she's with those Pink-Skins, you are to arrest them immediately. The Mistress Gerressia would be your responsibility, of course. It could always be found that the Pink-Skins freed themselves and took her along against her will," he said thoughtfully.

"Yes," Du said thoughtfully.


	7. Chapter 7

**SEVEN**

"Ah! There you are!" the Doctor cried happily, walking over and slapping his hand down rather heavily on Fergus's shoulder. He turned from the pub table and looked up at him.

"And thir _you_ are. It's been most of thi dae, man. All done?" he said slyly.

"I think we've answered a few questions, yes," the Doctor allowed, turning away suddenly and putting a hand behind Gerressia's back, nudging her over.

She walked round and sat next to Norra, nodding politely to him. The Doctor pulled out the chair next to Fergus, sitting quickly and then leaning across him to pick up the younger man's drink.

"Fill yir boots," Fergus said to himself, watching the Time Lord sink pretty much all of the contents of the beer glass before setting it down again.

"Ooh, not bad," he said to himself, then looked at Fergus. "Anyway, time we were off, Mister Campbell. We have a TARDIS to fix," he grinned.

"Oh! What, noe?" he demanded, surprised. "Yir all done with yir hen's ship then?"

"Kinda," the Doctor allowed, pulling at his ear. Gerressia looked at Fergus from across the table conspiratorially.

"It's knackered," she allowed. "It's never going to fly again."

"What?" Fergus gasped. "Then hoe –"

"We can drop her off," the Doctor put in loudly. "Can't we."

Fergus looked at him, met his gaze that brooked no argument, and realised this was one of those '_step away from my Time Rotor with your Marmite'd fingers_' moments. He nodded dumbly.

"Right then!" the Doctor said, getting to his feet. "Mister Campbell, Norra, Gerressia, I think it's time we got back to a _proper_ ship," he beamed. "Shouldn't take too long to sort the power and get us off this ball."

The others got to their feet slowly, and Gerressia and Norra made for the exit. The Doctor turned to go too, but Fergus grabbed his arm and dragged him back toward him slightly.

"Just a minute noe," he hissed quickly. "You sure aboot this, man? Ah mean, Ah knoe she's an absolute stoater, and Ah were a wee bit riled yi got tae her first, but are yi sure yi don't mind her in the TARDIS?"

The Doctor just looked at him cheerfully, pulling his arm free gently.

" 'Got to her first'? Am I supposed to know what that means, Mister Campbell?" he asked innocently, but Fergus noticed something in the way he flicked his gaze away from him quickly.

"It means yir tie's inside oot, man," he said slowly.

The Doctor looked back at him for a long moment. Then he looked at the ceiling innocently, his right hand going up and to his tie slowly. He smoothed it down until his fingers connected with the tailor's label, sticking out sharply. He sniffed to himself.

"Ah. Well, you see –"

"Really, Skipper, Ah really _don't_ want tae know!"

-------------------------------------------------

Colonel Du positioned his men across the small field, folding his arms and waiting. He and his waiting soldiers were completely unaware of a tall blue box, standing not twenty feet away.

The weather had turned a little bleaker, with slight drizzle accenting the bitter breeze and dim suns. He felt none of this, his thick blue fur and impressive uniform shielding him from the elements easily.

"Sir!" one of the guards shouted, and Colonel Du straightened immediately. He turned to the eight soldiers standing to attention to one side, and nodded. The tallest Werrian, at the front, simply saluted and tipped a furry finger over his shoulder, indicating the men to follow him.

They scurried off and past the hedges obscuring the TARDIS and her new guardians from the road.

Colonel Du waited impatiently, making sure it didn't show on his face.

After some minutes, the sound of marching feet and querulous protestations encroached on their ears, and suddenly the soldiers, encasing four people, rounded the large gap in the hedges.

"Bring them here!" Du shouted, pleased the way his voice came out authoritative and strong.

The soldiers marched up and stopped in front of them, the four prisoners coming to a halt inside. The covering Werrians shifted to each side to allow the Colonel access.

Fergus spotted the Colonel and bristled instantly. The Doctor stepped neatly in front of him as the Colonel stomped slightly closer to them.

"Afternoon," the Gallifreyan said cheerfully. "Come to see us off?"

"You are never going to reach the sea, nor any moored ship you might pay for passage, Pink-Skin," he sneered. "You and your friend are under arrest. Mistress Gerressia," he said with great satisfaction, turning slightly to face her, inclining his head respectfully, "I humbly request that you accompany me back to the city."

"That will not be necessary," she said haughtily. "These prisoners are in my custody, they –"

"With respect, Mistress Gerressia, they are no longer your responsibility. I have been charged with returning them to the city. They will be sentenced and disposed of," he said serenely.

"You can't do that," she seethed, stepping forward angrily. But the Doctor stepped up behind her quickly, putting a hand on her shoulder.

"Don't," he breathed from behind. She ignored him.

"It has already been decided and ratified," the Colonel said, even looking just the slightest bit apologetic.

"How dare you disobey me!" she hissed at him. He folded his arms slowly.

"Mistress Gerressia… You have been seen consorting with Pink-Skins, when it has been your duty to have them disposed of. I regret to inform you that you have been removed from the House of _G'mlee_ during your absence from this morning's meeting. You are now in my care," he said deliberately.

"Like hell I am!" she cried angrily, moving forwards. But the Doctor's grip on her shoulder pulled her quickly, holding her still. She pulled on it, turning more to look at him. "Doctor!" she protested.

"Gerressia," he said urgently. She waited, searching his eyes for some hope. She saw none. "This was always going to happen. They were never going to let you be anything other than a Pink-Skin for long."

"But what about all our plans?" she demanded angrily, and the Doctor's peripheral vision caught Colonel Du's almost smug smile. "What if I never see you again?" she asked urgently.

He let go of her shoulder slowly, letting his hand drop.

"You'll do it," he said quietly. She nodded slowly.

"Take them all back to the city!" Du ordered sharply. "The former Mistress will accompany me in my transport," he added.

Gerressia felt hands grab her arms and watched the Doctor's eyes as he was snatched from behind too.

_Fine, I'll do it,_ she thought, _but if this is the last time I ever see him, it's not going to be like this!_

She grunted with effort and wrenched herself free. She crossed the few feet between them and kissed him urgently, grabbing onto his arms in desperation.

Fergus looked at his feet, shaking his head sadly. As he looked up again he saw the soldiers pulling the woman from the Time Lord harshly, simply turning her and pulling her away.

The Doctor, his face completely expressionless, watched Gerressia escorted to the cart and pushed on slowly. The guards pulled at the Gallifreyan's arms to move him but he refused to be shifted. He sank his heels into the mud and wrenched at the hands on his arms with surprising strength, in stark contrast to his disconnected face.

Gerressia was blocked in by several soldiers and the Colonel climbed up at the front, ordering the cart to move out.

It rolled and moved off. Gerressia struggled with the soldier next to her, looking back over her shoulder at the Doctor desperately. He yanked on his arms to keep himself on the spot, lifting his chin to make sure she knew he had seen her.

She smiled suddenly. His dispassionate face watched her turn back slowly, and her cart move away.

The soldiers pulled on him and this time he let them turn him round and march him off. He heard Fergus complaining and turning the air blue, insulting the soldiers pulling _him_ on, but it hardly registered.

_So close. So very very close._

"Skipper?" Fergus called nervously.

The Doctor sucked in a deep breath through his nose, straightened his back, and looked over at him.

"Oh what _now_?" he asked irritably.

"Exactly!" Fergus cried, gesturing with his head to the soldiers.

The Doctor let his eyes roll around, counting the males carefully, checking faces.

And then he began to smile slyly, before wiping it off and looking back at Fergus.

"Follow my lead, Mister Campbell," he said quietly.

And Fergus decided it would be a good time to trust in the way the Time Lord arched a devious eyebrow at him.

A very good time indeed.


	8. Chapter 8

**EIGHT**

They were led back to the underground holding cells, this time finding it was just the two of them thrown in and the door slammed shut.

"Yi realise that if yi'd just left her at her ship and met up later, we wouldnae be here noe?" he asked pointedly.

"And she would have been arrested, and her ship destroyed," the Doctor pointed out.

"Well Ah'm sorry tae huv tae sae this, but if it's a choice between her or us getting banged-up, Ah knoe what Ah'd choose!" he said shortly.

"And how could I have got the TARDIS going without her help or tools?" he asked loudly. Fergus watched him turn away, as if to put an end to the conversation, but his mouth just wouldn't disconnect from his disappointment.

"Ah'm no trying tae piss yi off, man, but – but what thi bloody hell are yi playin' at?" he shouted at the Doctor suddenly. "Ah've never seen ye go on wi' a bird the whole time Ah've been roond here, but thi very first time you do, it has tae be a bloody rebel!"

"Mister Campbell," he sighed, shaking his head slightly. "Did it ever occur to you that I might have my reasons?"

"Oh aye, ye had _reasons_ alright!" he raged, watching the Doctor walk round the cell, checking the walls over slowly. "Ah'm sure ye _reasons_ wir just beggin' fae company, the amount of time _you've_ been on yir own!"

"Oi!" he protested loudly, turning to stare at him in irritation.

Fergus met his eyes and felt the impenetrable pools of omnipotence pretty much belittle all of his anger and petty concerns.

"Aye," he allowed quietly. "Ah'm sorry, Skipper. Ah'm… That was uncalled for," he managed, suddenly feeling ashamed.

The Doctor watched him for a long moment, then shook his head, turning away to the wall again, following it round slowly with his hand sliding over the mossy surface.

"So, ah… what wuid these reasons be, then?" Fergus asked lightly.

"Well I had to get the TARDIS fixed!" he cried, as if it were obvious.

"And just when did ye manage _that_? In between giving her highness a seeing-to?"

"Pretty much all that night you were in here, Mister Campbell," he said archly. "Any other questions?"

"Aye," he said quickly. "When me and Norra were in thi pub, what wir yous two doing _then_?" he demanded.

"We were fixing _her_ ship," he said simply, pulling the screwdriver from his pocket and flicking it on, holding it to a brick in the wall.

"Ah thought yi said it wouldnae fly!" he accused immediately. "So what wir yous _really_ doing?"

"Mister Campbell, how did the good Colonel know where we'd be?" he demanded suddenly, flicking off the screwdriver and turning to look at him.

"Er –"

"And how many of us were in the pub when Gerressia revealed that bit of news?" he pressed.

"Well, four –"

"And how many were arrested today?"

"Well, four again –"

"Four? _Really_?" he said knowingly. He made a show of looking round the cell. "Hmm. Four. Well, there's you, me… and Gerressia's heading back to Colonel Du's private estate, so that leaves –"

"Norra?" he interrupted, confused.

"Norra. Who just _happened_ to be in the same cell as you. Who just _happened_ to be an ex-soldier for Du. Who just _happened_ to have an interest in any and all Pink-Skins and their 'ships'," he said flatly. "Honestly, Mister Campbell, you do surprise me," he said lightly, turning away again.

"You mean Norra's a _spy_?" he demanded, working through it.

"Seems the most likely explanation, don't you think?" he said pointedly.

"And Ah thought… Aw, shite, man!" he cursed at himself, slapping a hand over his face loudly. He dragged it down and looked at him, his green eyes ashamed. "Ah was blaming you, thinking you'd lost ye heid over that lassie, and all the time you were dancing roond Norra and fixing ships!"

"Exactly," he said to himself, with some satisfaction. "I might be a bloke, Mister Campbell, but I'm also a Time Lord. And as you so charmingly put it, I _do_ have reasons, seeing as I'm _used_ to being on my own."

"Aw, bollocks, man," he said, anguished. "I didnae mean to make you feel –"

"Forget it. It's not important," he said, his most polished look of aloofness on his face. "We have better things to do than point out each other's shortcomings. That's what Tennant's Extra and fish and chips are for, after all," he added dryly.

"Yir on!" Fergus grinned. "So what are we doing noe?"

"We are looking to get out of here, find Gerressia, help her start her ship, and leg it back to the now-working TARDIS. Oh, and if we see the ubiquitous Colonel Du again –"

"Gie him a good kickin'?" Fergus said hopefully.

"Well I was going to say '_don't go off on a tangent_', but seeing as you have your heart set on it," the Doctor grinned with a frivolous shrug. Fergus rubbed his hands together excitedly.

"Well then, let's get cracking!"

-------------------------------------------------

Gerressia let herself be led into Colonel Du's private estate and into the large house. She wandered into the reception area, looking around impatiently.

Colonel Du walked in quickly, closing the large doors behind him and dismissing the two servant girls. He walked up behind her, putting his hands behind his back smartly.

"Mistress Gerressia," he said hopefully.

"As you pointed out, I'm no longer a Mistress of a house," she snapped. "What will happen to the House of _G'mlee_ now?"

"Frem has agreed to look after its interests, my lady," he said kindly. She turned and stared at him.

"Oh, I see," she said slowly, nodding at him. "You and Frem have been in this for a while, have you?"

"Master Frem thought it against tradition to have a Pi – someone of irregular birth running such an illustrious house," he said with difficulty. She paused.

"Was I doing such a bad job?" she asked wryly, folding her arms slowly, letting her anger go for the moment.

"Actually, my lady, I have always… appreciated… the way you handled and ran the house," he said slowly. "You have always been very impressive. To me."

"Oh," she said, nodding again, this time uneasily. "And the newly-appointed Master Frem has promised me to you, has he?"

"He indicated that a sentence of death could be avoided if you agreed to be under my protection, my lady," he said apologetically, and for the first time, she realised he was something other than haughty.

"Colonel Du," she said quietly, sighing. "You must know you are fonder of me than I am of you."

"I do," he allowed quietly, his small eyes pinching at the sides. "But… I could protect you, look after you," he managed. "But I could not allow you to consort with that Pink-Skin. He is so _feeble_, so very small," he added with distaste.

"He might be smaller than you, Colonel, but he's… He's a _great_ man," she sighed, turning away from him. "You wouldn't understand."

"To see him enjoying your affections was the final insult," he said firmly.

She laughed suddenly, and he waited, confused.

"Then you have a lot to learn about Pink-Skins, Colonel," she said, turning back to look at him. "Believe me, if we'd been '_enjoying each other's affections_' I'd have done a lot more than shouted and struggled this afternoon."

"I do not understand," he said quietly.

"No, you _don't_," she said firmly. "And you never could – how are we supposed to live here, together, when you're a full-bloodied Werrian and I'm just a Pink-Skin?" she asked. "Think about it! We're never going to understand each other."

"_He_ has filled your mind with these –"

"_He_ has filled my mind with a lot of things, but realising you and I really aren't meant for each other wasn't one of them," she snapped. "That I already knew."

"You could never live here, with me?" he asked quietly, and she turned and looked at him.

"I'm sorry, Colonel. It's just… It's just never going to work. I'd come to like you, in time. I might even stop calling you by your rank. But… I think love is out of the question."

"And yet you love this Pink-Skin?" he asked sourly.

She turned away again and bit her lip, choosing her words carefully.

"Whether I do or not hardly matters. He's not going to be with us long, is he?" she pointed out, keeping her voice steady.

"But… seeing him again, to say goodbye. That would… that would please you?" he ventured.

She swallowed and her eyes narrowed slowly for a moment.

"It would. It would please me so much," she allowed. "But it can't be done, can it?" she said carefully, keeping her voice deliberately bitter.

"Do you wish to see him before his sentence is carried out?"

She turned quickly. "Yes."

"I could arrange it. If…" He paused, obviously upset. "If you would promise to forget him after tonight."

"I could promise, but it would be a lie," she said quietly. "However," she added, her voice stronger, "I could promise never to mention him to you again."

Du looked at her for a long moment.

"I see."

He thought about it, then walked around her slowly, off deeper into the house. She followed slowly, finding him in a kitchen with two servants. He instructed them to make dinner before turning to look at her.

"Then we shall go before his sentence is carried out. Then you will never speak of him to me again."

"As you say," she said calmly. "Thank you for doing this for me."

"I would do a lot for you, Mistress Gerressia," he said quietly, and she couldn't meet his eyes.

He gestured to the door with his head. She walked out and he followed her.


	9. Chapter 9

**NINE**

The Doctor flicked off the screwdriver and gestured to Fergus. They slid more dried mortar away from the ancient brick, sliding their fingers in and round, desperately gouging at the crumbling dried-out paste.

"Ah'm thinking… some place wi' golf and no rain," Fergus offered grimly.

"Anywhere without rain," the Doctor agreed as they worked.

"But it has tae huv golf this time, Skipper. Yi said thi last place had thi galaxy's biggest golf course, and then we found it closed up," he said. "Remember?"

"Oh yeah, so it was," the Doctor said, smiling suddenly. "Forgot about that. And the time before that, the beach had no sea. I remember."

"And thi time before that, thi beach had thi biggest bastard sharks! Ah couldnae believe it," he said pointedly. "When are yi gonnae sort that thing so we land somewhere filled wi' beautiful lassies and endless beer?"

"You mean the Boddington's brewery?" the Doctor smiled.

"Give over, man. Come on," he grumbled, drawing his fingers out of the gouge that was becoming quite deep.

"Well you're the one stopping," he pointed out. "Aren't you wondering if you'll ever see home again, the rate you're going?" he asked mildly.

Fergus looked at him.

"Home?" he prompted. "Home is whir ma tools are, man. And thir on that workbench in that bloody huge bedroom yi let me huv. Ah'm no giving up thi TARDIS just yet, she's been good tae me."

"Well, as long as all this isn't bringing you down," he said.

Fergus put a hand out on his arm, stopping him.

"Skipper, what are yi asking me?" he said clearly. "Are yi wanting me tae leave?"

Fergus watched his eyebrows disappear up under his fringe.

"It's been my experience that some people find it hard going. You know, no real linear time and all that," he offered confidently. "It wouldn't be the first time that someone's packed it in cos they just want Thursday to follow Tuesday."

"Wednesday," he corrected absently.

"Wednesday," the Doctor amended quickly. Fergus watched him, but he appeared to be waiting.

"That's not a 'no'," he said slowly. "Seriously Skipper. Come on," he said quietly. "Are yi tired of me noe? Have yi shown me all them things yi wanted me tae see, and noe yir wanting me tae go? Are yi thinking it's time yi had a new person tae annoy ye, so yir not bouncing aroond that big old antique by yasself?"

"You've never called her an antique before," he said quietly, not looking at him suddenly. Fergus realised the tips of the Time Lord's ears were a little red, and he suddenly felt very awkward.

"And yi've never called me a nosy wee bastard, but Ah'm sure yi've wanted tae," he said confidently. "Ah'm loving this non-linear thing, Skipper, an' Ah think yi knoe that. Ah huv tae wonder sometimes… why dae yi let me stae?" he dared.

The taller Gallifreyan studied the brickwork next to him, avoiding the young Scot's eyes admirably.

"Because… Because sometimes you remind me of me," he said grimly, then looked at him. "_Well_, one of me. I'm not sure which one, some days."

"Bloody hell," Fergus grinned, making the Time Lord smile at last. "If Ah'd wanted insults Ah'd huv asked fae them!" he chuckled.

"Mister Campbell, I do _not_ want you to leave," he said dismissively, watching the younger man relax slowly. "I was just making sure you don't either."

"Well there yi are," he said, nodding. "Ah don't want tae leave, and _you_ don't want me tae leave. So Ah'm no leaving."

"Right."

"Right."

"We _are_ leaving here though?" he asked hopefully.

"Oh yes!" the Doctor cried cheerfully, turning back to the brickwork and sliding his long, elegant fingers in where the mortar had been. He shifted the brick, walking it slowly toward him. "Get ready," he hissed through gritted teeth, yanking on the brick and jumping back.

The brick fell out to the floor, exposing an array of metal rods and poles behind. The Doctor grinned and rubbed his hands together, chuckling before putting his hand in and feeling around.

"Got it – are you ready?" he called over to Fergus.

He stood at the door, his hands on the handle.

"Aye. Just sae thi word, Skipper!"

The Doctor grasped the larger of the poles firmly, pulling on it. It began to lean slowly toward him. He put his foot up against the wall quickly, using it as leverage.

He heaved and Fergus pulled on the door, but it didn't move.

"A bit more!" he called.

"Alright," the Doctor managed through gritted teeth, pulling back and heaving with all his strength.

The sound of large bars sliding about echoed round the cell.

"That's it!" Fergus cheered, as the bolts holding the door locked slid up.

"Open it!" the Time Lord heaved.

Fergus yanked on the door and it swung open suddenly. The Doctor let go of the pole abruptly and it whipped back against the inside wall again. The large bolts in the doorframe slammed back out, but it was too late; the door was open.

"Come on then," Fergus said quickly, racing out into the corridor.

"Wait!" the Doctor called, running out after him. They stopped dead in the corridor, looking around in confusion. "Where are the guards?" he asked suspiciously.

"This is not good," Fergus pointed out. The Doctor looked at him.

"You get to the TARDIS. Gerressia should be out and looking for us there by now."

"You sure?" he asked, surprised.

"Oh I'm sure. She's not going to have a problem looking after herself. Now go. And don't stop to look back, Mister Campbell," he said firmly.

"Aye-aye Skipper," he said. But he hesitated, then looked back at him. "Ah am sorry, though. For what Ah said before –"

"Just go, Mister Campbell," he said, smiling easily. "Really."

"Aye," he allowed, nodding and turning to look for the door at the end of the corridor. He ran off.

The Doctor looked around, then found the door at the opposite end. He ran for it, swinging it open hurriedly.

And then he stopped dead.

Gerressia look back at him, surprised. Then she pushed at his front.

"Run! The Colonel's with me and he's after _you_!" she cried.

She pushed at him, hurrying to follow, trying to close the door behind her.

But a huge blue hand rammed at the door, sending it flying open. It crashed into the wall behind and Colonel Du stormed through.

He reached for the Doctor.

"Colonel!" Gerressia shouted, "No!"

But Colonel Du wasn't listening.

_The Pink-Skin, the deplorable, hated Pink-Skin that dares to be more appealing to my mistress than me is free!_ He was attempting to escape, and if there was one thing that the Colonel would do before the night was out, it was kill him.

With his bare hands.

He grabbed the Time Lord's shoulder and easily yanked him back toward him. He grabbed the front of his jacket with his other hand. He lifted him off the floor easily, hurling him toward the wall.

The Doctor smacked side-long into the brick wall, landing on his front on the floor. He wheezed and scrabbled at the wall to get to his feet. Du advanced on him.

The Doctor was quicker. He made a run for the end door and the axe hanging next to it.

He slammed into the wall successfully, his fingers picking at the axe handle. But the Colonel's thick fingers clutched his neck from behind, pulling him back.

"Now, Pink-Skin," he seethed, wrenching him away from the door and axe. "Now I have a reason to shatter your feeble little backbone!"

There was a crash. The Doctor staggered as Du suddenly let go of him. He looked up and round to find Du brushing wood from his fur, Gerressia stood behind him. She was holding the remains of a wooden chair. She stepped back one and swung the chair leg in her right hand. It flew round and into Du's kidney firmly.

The Doctor turned again for the axe. He had his hands on it and pulled at it. It wouldn't budge.

He heard a scuffle and Gerressia cried out. He looked back over his shoulder as he wrenched desperately at the axe.

Du was standing over Gerressia, breathing hard. She had fallen, clutching her jaw, looking up at him murderously.

"_Colonel_!" the Doctor raged.

He let go of the axe and launched himself at the huge blue soldier.

He got his arms round him. Belatedly he realised it had been a stupid thing to do. Gerressia skittered back against the wall on her hands, watching in horror. Du simply grabbed the Time Lord's arms from round him with ease. He pulled on one until the Gallifreyan was in front of him. He drew back a hand and rammed it with all his strength into the smaller male's face.

Gerressia shrieked in anger, scrabbling to her feet to make for the axe on the wall. She looked at the Doctor, expecting him to topple and collapse. Du caught sight of her and advanced on her again.

And the Doctor, enraged, threw himself at the Werrian.

The Colonel caught the full force of the Doctor against his back. They went down in a heap. Gerressia squealed and struggled to get to her feet. There was a flurry of blue and brown as the two males grunted and heaved, elbowing and grabbing desperately.

Suddenly the Doctor was thrown off the Werrian. He landed on his back, the air pushed out of him. He rolled around blearily, trying to get to his hands and knees.

"Gerressia! Run!" he managed.

"Colonel! No!" she shouted in horror.

Colonel Du stood over the Time Lord. He lifted a single boot and heaved it into his ribs. The Gallifreyan was propelled over and onto his back again. Du raised his foot again. He crashed it down into the centre of his chest, pinning him to the floor.

"Now, my lady, watch me snap his neck!"


	10. Chapter 10

**TEN**

Fergus was halfway down the corridor when he heard an enraged cry and a muffled smashing sound. He stopped and looked back.

"Aw bloody _hell_!" he hissed, turning and racing back to the cells.

He stopped behind the semi-closed door. He heard a pained cry that could only have been the Doctor. And the sound of Colonel Du chuckling.

He stepped back one and lifted a foot. He booted the door open with all his strength.

Barely a foot outside the arc of the flying door stood Colonel Du.

Fergus didn't think. He slid over, up to him.

His right foot went out, ramming home on top of the Colonel's boot. He used it to take his weight as he reached out with his right fist. He grabbed the male's now lowered uniform jacket in his hand. He pulled sharply. Du's head flew toward his own and Fergus leaned back. He stabbed forward with as much momentum as he could.

There was almighty crack as their heads collided.

Du attempted to stagger. With his foot trapped it was impossible. He began to keel over backwards. Fergus stepped round. With blinding speed he swept his left fist round and smashed it into the Werrian's jaw.

Colonel Du flew over onto his back, landing heavily.

Fergus stood back one quickly. He wiped his forehead with his arm, watching the Colonel suspiciously. He turned and stepped over the prone Werrian's legs, leaning down toward the Doctor. But he was already rolling painfully to his feet, one hand to his ribs, clutching at the wall to help him up.

"The keys!" he heaved breathlessly.

Fergus looked around, then heard a jangling sound. Gerressia was on her feet and hurrying over.

"Get him in the cell," the Time Lord breathed.

Fergus and Gerressia grabbed an arm each and pulled the insensate Colonel into the once-occupied cell, running out and locking it firmly. Fergus looked around, made sure the cell next to it was locked, and then tossed the keys in through the small barred windows.

"They won't be gettin' _him_ oot in a hurry," he said with supreme satisfaction. Then he turned and found Gerressia pulling the Doctor's left arm over her shoulders, helping him to straighten. "Bloody hell, man," he said, shaking his head sadly. "Ah'm guessing this wasnae part of thi plan then?"

"Ship, then TARDIS," he breathed painfully, ignoring Fergus's worried stare. Gerressia walked him to the door and they hurried out.

-------------------------------------------------

"That's the power!" the Doctor called. Fergus ran in from the cockpit, looking round and finding the Gallifreyan sprawled on the engine room floor, twisting two thick cables into some kind of plastic mould.

"Are we right then?" he asked the Doctor quickly.

"We are. Tell her to start her up," he said.

Fergus ran off again and the Doctor pushed himself up tiredly. He blew out a sigh and clamped a hand to his ribs, using his other hand to pull himself to his feet, gritting his teeth. He sniffed, pulled his suit jacket straight, and pressed his hand to the screaming bones, hobbling on into the cockpit.

Gerressia was sitting in the pilot's seat, grinning and clapping her hands at the dials and readouts that indicated she had power and everything was ready for a quick take-off.

"All green to go?" the Doctor asked with a tired smile.

"_Every_thing!" she gushed, jumping out of the seat and flinging her arms around the Time Lord's neck, hugging him tightly.

"Steady on," he wheezed, and she slid her hands down his front slowly, apologetically.

"Thank you, Doctor," she said seriously. "I never thought I could leave this place. And I never thought I'd see this thing running again."

"Yeah well," he said warmly, putting his hands to her elbows, "these old things should go on forever. Just be careful," he said suddenly. "There are a lot of pirates out there, Gerressia."

"Don't I know it," she said cheekily, putting her hands to his face warmly.

Fergus cleared his throat. "Ah'll er… Ah'll just be ootside, likesay," he said awkwardly, turning and walking out of the door quickly, his eyes on the floor. The Doctor watched him start down the ladder outside the door, then looked back at Gerressia.

"He's had a sheltered life, you know how it is," he said dismissively, and she laughed.

"Really?" she said slyly. "Now hurry up and go so I can leave, Doctor. You have to get to your huge ship before Du can get out."

"Yes I do," he said, a touch sadly. "Shame, though."

"What is?" she asked gamely.

"Well – um – that… Oh _look_," he heaved wearily. "It's just a shame you have to go one way and I have to go another, that's all. I don't mean anything by it."

"Good," she said firmly, pulling on his face again. "Because if _I_ had said that, I would have meant a whole _lot_ of things by it. You've done so much for me," she said more seriously. "But now you have to do one more."

"What's that?" he asked innocently.

"Forgive me for doing this. I could _not_ live with myself if I didn't."

She kissed him.

Fergus wandered around underneath the ladder up to the cockpit door, hands in his pockets, shaking his head. He looked at his watch, then up at the ladder, then around worriedly.

After a few minutes he climbed back up the ladder and banged his fist on the open metal door of the cockpit.

"Hae, ye canny wee bastard, we have tae be off!" he cried indignantly.

The Doctor pulled himself away from Gerressia reluctantly, nodding to her once. She let her hand slide from his face down him to his shirt, before standing back one. She watched him turn his head but not his torso to look over at Fergus.

"Alright, keep your shirt on," he said, his voice stuck up at his favourite high-pitched tone of indignation. "We're only ten minutes from the TARDIS, Tourette's-boy."

"An' a bloody good job it is too," he said firmly. "Thanks hen, see you anon," he said, winking at Gerressia.

She grinned.

"Thank _you_, Fergus. Look after him for me," she added. He nodded back at her.

"Ah can but try, hen, Ah can but try," he said, disappearing back down the ladder.

The Doctor looked back at Gerressia.

"So. Gerressia," he said grandly, as he walked backwards to the ladder. "Thanks. It's been fun," he grinned.

"Hasn't it just," she said slyly, folding her arms. "When are you going to tell him half the TARDIS's power is currently being re-routed with a – what did you call it? – a 1969 Marks & Spencer's tie?"

"What? And allow myself to slip in his estimation? Hardly," he scoffed, and she laughed.

"Goodbye, Doctor. I hope to see you again."

"I'd be offended if you didn't," he grinned suavely, winking and disappearing down the ladder.

She sighed happily, then turned and started programming in a flight-plan. She grinned at the boards in front of her, as for the first time in ten years, they indicated full power and a clear opening for vertical take-off.

-------------------------------------------------

The noise was unbearable. The pulsing, booming cacophony echoed and reverberated off every surface, beating the air mercilessly with such a strident wall of sound that small items rattled in their places, dust jumped off the shiny surfaces, and even the TARDIS grating quivered beneath its wrath.

The sheets on the bed moved and then a monumental irritated sigh came from somewhere under the pillow. Fergus turned onto his back and opened his eyes, looking up at the ceiling and then thrusting the heels of his hands into his eyes, rubbing them harshly.

He looked over at the clock on his bedside table, tutting at the discovery that it had in fact been only four hours since he'd called it an adventure and a half and simply gone to bed.

He sighed as if it were all universally unjust. Then he pushed himself out of bed, pulling his mostly red Hawaiian surfing shorts straight. He leaned over and picked up his favourite battered old Deacon Blue t-shirt and pulled it on over his head. He marched off, following the noise out into the zig-zagging corridor.

He stopped at the door to the Doctor's bedroom, listening to the booming music die away slowly. He relaxed, about to turn and go back to bed.

But the music quickly started up again, and he wondered just what the Gallifreyan could be doing with such a racket going on.

'_She came from Greece she had a thirst for knowledge – she studied sculpture at Saint Martin's college that's where I… caught her eye…'_

"Aw no," he moaned, recognising the tune immediately. He put a hand out to the door and pushed on it, opening it wide to look in.

The noise was louder in here, and Fergus was suddenly worried his ears were contemplating bleeding in protest.

'_She told me that her dad was loaded. I said in that case I'd have rum and Coca Cola – she said 'fine'. And then in thirty seconds time… she said –'_

Fergus walked in and looked around, and then stopped.

The Doctor was in his favourite faded blue t-shirt and overly-baggy blue pyjama bottoms, stretched out on his back on the right side of his bed. He had a small PDA hanging loosely from his right hand, out on the bed covers.

Fergus looked at the bright orange box, the apparent source of the music, on the bedside table. He crossed to it and turned it down quickly, noticing the small bottle of tear-drop shaped tablets next to it. He picked up the bottle, but the label was covered in delicate circular engraving, reminding him of the screensaver on the Time Rotor's monitor.

He put the pills down again, turning and looking at the Doctor, fast asleep. The impression of the support bandage round his ribs was slightly evident under his skinny t-shirt, and Fergus sighed, shaking his head. He leaned over him, taking the PDA from his hand to toss it on the bedside table.

His careless eyes caught the top line and he hesitated.

'_Hey there, Doctor of mine. I know we didn't get much time together, but the time we did get–'_

He squeezed his eyes shut nobly, opening them to put the PDA down on the table quickly, out of his sight. He turned back to the Doctor, leaning over him and sliding his glasses off him carefully. He folded them and put them on the table too, then turned back to the orange box.

'_Well what else could I do? I said 'I'll see what I can do'…'_ flowed out of it quietly, and he decided to leave it playing.

Instead he picked up the used tea mug next to it and turned, walking back to the door.

He looked back at the Doctor and smiled.

Then he flicked the light out, and simply closed the door silently behind him.

**THE END**


End file.
